


Fools Rush Out

by Prideaux



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prideaux/pseuds/Prideaux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Davos Seaworth generally plays well with others - his newest partner, however, seems to be at the opposite end of the social spectrum. Odd couple / cop!fic AU - rating will most likely rise in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fools Rush Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bronson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronson/gifts).



Commissioner Robert Baratheon was big, red-faced man - he was impressive, both in name and in appearance, but close up, Davos found that it was like seeing a painting for the first time - you saw the cracks and the flaws, the burst blood-vessels and the yellowed eyes and suddenly it didn’t look quite as impressive as before.  
“Seaworth, eh?” Baratheon looked down at the file, as though seeing it for the first time. “Long way from home, aren’t you?”  
“Yessir.” What did you say to that? Did Baratheon want a reason? Some kind of explanation?  
“Boston. Hear it’s very nice this time of year.” Davos wasn’t sure exactly _who_ Baratheon had heard that from, but he managed a tight smile.  
“Sir?”  
“Nevada doesn’t really get the same sort of weather,” he said, a tinge of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “Of course it’s nice in other ways. Different.” Davos couldn’t help but wonder if Baratheon had been drinking - the ruddy face seemed to back up that particular theory - not to mention his slow, sad jumble of words.  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
“You’ll be working with my brother.” Baratheon said, abruptly. Though his face was still splotchy and discoloured, his eyes looked, for a second, clearer than before.  
“Sir.”  
“Stannis isn’t... Well. He’s not exactly Starsky and Hutch.” The comparison wasn’t exactly one that made sense to Davos - any number of adjectives could have defined ‘not exactly Starsky and Hutch’.  
  
“I see,” said Davos, who didn’t. “I’ll do my best to support him - give him any of the assistance he requires.”  
“You had a partner, back in Boston,” Baratheon said, and gestured at the file in front of him. For some reason, the fact that the commissioner had actually read the thing came as a surprise to him - mentally, he scolded himself. Despite appearances, Robert Baratheon’s reputation was the stuff of legends - of course, all the legends said that he drunk and smoked and whored too much, but exceptions tended to be made when you had an arrest record like his.  
  
“That’s right,” Davos said, then hesitated. It was still too fresh a memory, though he was sure Baratheon already knew that - after all, it was all in the file. “Sal’s a good man. I just hope he’ll be back at work at some point in the near future.” That sounded too clinical, too uncaring for his liking, but it didn’t do well to show all your cards, even if they other guy was supposed to be playing on your team.  
  
“I’m sure the guys up in MA are doing everything they can to ensure his speedy recovery.” It was insincere, flippant, like a greeting card; as though Robert Baratheon knew exactly what to say, without any idea of the sentiment required in the gesture. “If you don’t mind me asking, is there any particular reason for your transfer request?”  
 _You mean apart from having to watch my best friend take a bullet to the spine?_ Davos wondered.  
“Uh,” he faltered. “A change of scenery. My wife and I, well, we divorced recently - easier for both of us to just have the miles between us.”  
“Ah,” a brief expression of sympathy flickered across Robert’s face, then it died away almost as quickly. “Well, I hope this was the right choice for you.”  
  
The silence hung, and finally Davos ascertained that he was free to leave. He got to his feet, and held out a hand to the commissioner.  
“It’ll be a pleasure to work with your brother, sir.” He promised. Robert Baratheon laughed, almost disbelievingly, then shook the proffered hand.  
“Tell me that again in a week’s time.”  


* * *

  
  
When Davos left the office, he had the feeling of not being entirely let in on a joke. He was met by Commissioner Baratheon’s right-hand man, a weathered looking man with a slow, easy smile. He introduced himself as Ned Stark, and he looked as out of place here as Davos did, though he was worn down, as though he’d grudgingly accepted Nevada a long time ago.  
  
“It’s a pleasure. Whereabouts are you from?” Davos found himself asking, a blurted question, potentially misconstrued as rude. Ned didn’t seem to take offence, though, and gave a half-shrug.  
“Originally? I’m from Vancouver. My wife’s American - I’ve been here for almost twenty years now.”  
“Do you like it here?”  
  
“... It’s certainly different,” Ned said, diplomatically. “I miss Canada, but my family, my job, my life is here now. That’s just how it goes.” He was carrying a cardboard box filled with all the flotsam and jetsam of Davos’s desk back in Boston; despite all of Davos’s protests, Ned refused (in the politest, most Canadian way possible) to allow him to carry it.  
  
“Think you’ll go back up north some day?”  
“Maybe,” Ned shrugged, though he didn’t sound sure. “If that’s what Cat wants. I don’t think Robert’ll be pleased to let me go if it comes to it, though.”  
“No?” Davos asked, in an effort to keep the conversation flowing. Ned gave him a half-smile, and shook his head.  
  
“Definitely not. This is your desk,” Davos didn’t see it until he’d just about walked into it. Ned, who had managed to stop a safe distance away, held out the box of Davos’s admittedly somewhat meagre belongings. “Stannis should be in within the hour. You may as well unpack until then - no sense starting anything before he’s met you.”  
“Thanks.” Ned looked hesitant, as though something was keeping him from leaving. He seemed to wrestle with his feelings before patting Davos on the shoulder heavily, the same sort of pat people gave to guests at funerals.  
“Just... You seem like a good guy. Don’t take him personally, Seaworth.”  


* * *

  
  
It was, in fact, a little over two hours later when the infamous Detective Stannis Baratheon made his first appearance. Davos heard the angry clatter of footsteps almost masked by the squeak of linoleum - there was a brief second of silence before the door to the open plan office was flung open with a sound like a gunshot.  
  
Davos flinched, then felt stupid - around him the other detectives continued their work, the commotion washing around them like rocks in a stream. Business as usual, apparently. This could only be, if the single grainy photo he’d been provided with was accurate, the legend that was Stannis Baratheon. As far as he could see, Stannis Baratheon didn’t look especially legendary. Stannis Baratheon looked _pissed_.  
  
“You think I tell them to watch the fucking building for my _health_ , Cressen? Jesus, we don’t pay officers to sit around and drink coffee, no matter what the news networks seem to think. Where the hell were they?” His voice was one of _those_ voices: one of the _‘I’m not taking any shit so you’d better clam up and listen’_ voices. In an open plan office, a voice like that pretty much guaranteed that people were going to talk about you behind your back later on.  
  
Beside Stannis was another man, older, slightly put-upon, nodding frantically in a dismal attempt at placation. It didn’t seem to matter, Stannis kept on shouting - apparently either unaware or entirely dismissive of the discreet rubber-necking taking place across the entirety of the bullpen.  
“I ask them to watch one building. One goddamn office building - so where the _hell_ were they?” He demanded. Cressen shrugged helplessly.  
  
“A distraction - they must’ve known-”  
“Of course they knew,” Stannis said his voice an abrupt snarl. “Or else a distraction probably wouldn’t have been necessary, would it?”  
“I don’t-” Cressen started, but Stannis silenced him with a sharp gesture.   
“Don’t. Just find them. I’ll do the damn stakeout myself.” For a moment, Davos expected Cressen to argue, to say something at least, but instead he finally bowed his head in a gesture of submission.  
“Okay. Sure thing.”  
  
Cressen left, and Stannis watched him until he was out of eyeshot, before casting his gaze back across the office. The rest of the detectives, all of whom seemed to be more Stannis-savvy than himself, snapped their eyes back to their work, as though they _hadn’t_  spent the last minute and a half eavesdropping. Davos, however, found himself tangled up in that hawk-like glare.  
“Don’t you have work to be doing, detective?”  
“Sorry, boss.” Okay, so technically speaking, Stannis wasn’t his boss. But something about the guy made Davos go a big subservient one - his desire for an easy life, to not make waves, was more important right now than riling up Stannis, who really looked as though he was on the verge of rethinking his career in law enforcement and becoming a spree killer instead.  
  
‘Boss’ seemed to be the right way to go, and it afforded him a tight lipped nod of acknowledgement.  
“Davos Seaworth, I suppose?” Stannis asked, and held out a hand for him to shake, leaning across Davos’s desk until he took it.  
“You suppose right.”  
“Born 1977 in Boston, Massachusetts - married once, divorced,” that stung, but Davos kept his expression under wraps. “You didn’t finish high school - you drink and you smoke. Recently transferred from your offices in Boston to Nevada after the shooting of your former partner, one Sallador Saan. Tell me if I’m missing anything out here.”  
  
“No,” Davos said, slowly. “Sounds accurate enough.” He wanted to fire back with a volley of information about Stannis, but upon reflection, he realised that he knew, in truth, very little about the guy. Beyond his name and the somewhat cryptic remarks from other officers, Stannis was an enigma.  
“It’s my understanding that you’re to be my new partner. I don’t work well with others, but if this is what it takes to prove to my brother that fact, I guess I don’t have a choice.” It wasn’t exactly the warm welcome Davos had wanted, but he gave a short nod of understanding.  
  
He thought of Sal, who now seemed the polar opposite of Stannis Baratheon. For Sal smiles and words came freely - detectives loved him, witnesses loved him, hell, even a handful of crooks loved him. Davos missed the ease of the partnership, the familiarity of Boston. Instead, now, nearly three thousand miles from home, Davos Seaworth had never felt more isolated.  
  
“You mentioned a stakeout?” He said finally, because who was he kidding about eavesdropping? Proactivity seemed to be the way forward though, and Stannis looked satisfied.  
“We’ll take my car.”


End file.
